


Comfort, Keep, and Honor

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Character, Kissing, M/M, One Night Stands, Other, References to Oscar Wilde, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: If Heaven and Hell decided that they needed their Earth operatives married straight from the beginning- well, it all ends the same way, but the road getting there is different. An Arranged Marriage AU.-Written for the kink meme prompt foundhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108





	Comfort, Keep, and Honor

**_Haran_ **

**_Not Long After the Beginning_ **

One universe over, Heaven and Hell each had half a clue, and wonder of wonders, they put the halves together to discover one grand and universal truth: they didn't trust each other as far as they could throw each other, which was, given the difficulty of throwing an entire plane of moral cognizance, absolutely no distance at all.

Rules of engagement were made and broken, lines were drawn, erased, and redrawn, and sabers were rattling like anything before someone happened to look over at the humans and said _hey, look what they're doing._

The humans had been marrying each other for a little while, and it was roundly agreed that marriage would be a good neutral ground for the pairing of Earth operatives. It would be a way to keep tabs without the misery of actual chains or bindings, and given the various forms of covenants and conventions, flexible enough that each side thought it was getting away with something.

The date was set, the location agreed upon, and one principality drew the proverbial short straw and appeared on Earth at the set time.

“I am still not sure that this is the best way,” Aziraphale said, shaking out his skirts. He had to admit, the cream-colored silk was lovely, layered until he looked a little like a luxurious cloud and weighed down only by a golden girdle hung with polished sapphires. He never got to wear such nice things in Heaven.

“Well, it's the way you're going,” Gabriel said absently. “All right, I think I see them coming up over the horizon. Stand up straight.”

Aziraphale did as ordered, and now he could see what Gabriel had, two dark specks in the gradually darkening sky, growing larger and, he blinked, _louder_ by the moment.

“Under no bloody circumstances, no! No, no, no!”

“Fly all you like, snake, it's all going to come to the same thing! You're only going to the altar tired!”

For a moment, Aziraphale thought that the two figures, both in black, were going to overshoot them entirely, but then the smaller one crashed into the taller, slamming both to the grass with an almighty thump.

The shorter one rose up first, grabbing the other by the scruff and giving him a hard shake.

“I will pluck out every feather on you, tempter,” snapped Prince Beelzebub. “Now get up.”

The other figure, lanky, red-haired and yellow-eyed, unfolded until he was roughly of a height with Gabriel, glaring fit to kill.

“I want it stated for the record,” he snarled, “that I think this is a bloody stupid idea.”

“Noted and ignored,” replied Beelzebub in exasperation, and then ze turned to the angels. “Well, I've brought our end of the bargain. Gabriel, is this yours?”

“ _This_ is a principality,” Gabriel stated coldly. “He's of the upper echelons of Heaven, formerly the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“He doesn't look like so much,” Beelzebub said critically, and Gabriel shrugged.

“What you see is what you get. Shall we get on with this?”

“Come on, someone at least buy me dinner first,” the red-haired demon protested, but it was a sullen thing. He turned to Aziraphale, eyeing him up and down ungraciously.

“I'm glad you're the girl,” he said. “I sure as hell refuse to be.”

“Ah, well, I'm a principality,” Aziraphale offered. “That's... a little like a girl?”

“Pretty sure it's not,” the demon replied, and with a pass of his hand, he neatened his robe, deepening the faded black to something like pure nightfall and braiding his long hair back neatly. With his hair out of his face, his features were clean and sharp, lacking in fangs or scales, and wholly displeased. He pointed ignored Aziraphale as the strange quartet made their way down to the village, where they met with a very puzzled old woman who was never quite sure if she was seeing a nervous maiden and a fuming man or a tower of flaming basalt and an enormous hissing snake.

She fumbled her way through the short ceremony, ensuring that both sides were of age and there of their own free will, and that they consented to be bound so long as they both should last. Finally, she drew a red sigil at their base of their throats with a mixture of ocher and fat and clasped their hands together hopefully, only to see them let go with rather insulting quickness as soon as she released them.

“Well, that's that,” she said uncertainly, and the parents of the ill-favored couple stepped forward. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember whose parents they were, and at this point, it seemed impolitic to ask.

“Thank you,” Gabriel said, handing her a fortune in pearls and flowers. “We really appreciate this, couldn't have done it with you. Blessed, blessed, blessed are you among the children of man.”

“Yeah, thanks loads,” grumbled Beelzebub, who, not to be outdone, filled the woman's apron pockets with a few dozen cursed stones and bones, each ready to drop a lifetime of misfortune on whoever she handed them to.

“Ah, yes,” said the officiant, whose brain was trying very hard not to see a storm shaped like a man or a buzzing mass of primeval locusts. She turned to the couple, who were at least a little less unsettling.

“Er. Many happy days to the couple, maybe your union be lucky where it cannot be safe, and may you go forth and do good works-”

The person who was not a swarm of hungry insects buzzed, low and menacing.

“Um, may you go forth and taste the fruits of the trees and the-

The person who was not a storm thundered softly

“Go forth and do your best,” she said at last, and then with intense relief, she passed from the story entirely, leaving the four ineffable beings behind outside the inn, the evening coming on cold, and the first stars bright in the sky.

“All right,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands. “Done and done. Aziraphale. get in there, do your bit, and then you ought to be off to Abydos. Remember, no slacking off.”

“Yes,” Beelzebub said, turning to Crowley. “Just finish off the rest, and see to that business in Lagash. No malingering, mind you. I will not excuse sloth.”

“Er,” said Aziraphale haplessly, but with a flash of light and a stench of burning insects, Gabriel and Beelzebub were gone, leaving him alone with the demon whose name he didn't even know. Summoning up a tentative smile, Aziraphale turned towards his new spouse gamely.

“Well, that was-” he began, only to realize that he was talking to empty air.

The demon had made his way into the inn, where he was bargaining with the girl at the bar for a jug of something that looked rather deadly. Jug in hand, he jerked his head towards the back rooms.

“Come on,” he said, and Aziraphale, mystified and a little panicky, followed.

Whatever he was expecting, however, it wasn't for the demon to sit on the low cot by the brazier and to take a long swallow from the jug, and then another.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, when the demon paused for breath. “That is, are you all right?”

“Will be,” the demon muttered. “Look, just... just wait and let me get properly out of my head, all right? Then we can get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” asked Aziraphale in confusion, and then he blinked because he thought he knew. “Oh! Ah, please, won't you put that down? We could at least talk about it.”

The demon gave him a gimlet yellow eye, suspicious but at least he didn't take a third gulp.

“Dunno what there is to talk about,” the demon said darkly. “We've got our orders. _You've_ got your orders.”

Aziraphale tried a smile, but it felt weak and sickly on his face, and he let it drop away.

“We do,” he said, and the demon nodded.

“So yeah. I get smashed out of my head, we do the thing, we go our separate ways, and we can start pretending this never happened.”

“We don't have to,” Aziraphale tried, and the demon gave him a wary look.

“I'm planning on it, and if you think I'm going to go simpering after you like a goat on a rope...”

“I've never seen a goat simper,” Aziraphale said levelly, “and right now, all I want to do is to talk with you.”

The demon didn't look friendlier, but he didn't stop Aziraphale from coming to sit next to him. Once he was seated though, he was a bit at a loss for words, looking down at the pretty doubled hem of his skirts, playing with the gems hung from his girdle.

“Honestly, what a mess,” he found himself saying, and somewhat to his surprise, the demon answered.

“Yeah, you're telling me? I could fucking kill that little imp who said, _hey, look at the humans._ Like humans have such good ideas anyway.”

“Oh, but they do come up with some splendid things,” Aziraphale felt the need to point out. “For all that they only here for such a short time, they do so well. Do you know, I saw a likely little thing making marks on the ground the other day and using them to stand for the amount of apples she had? That's surely going to go somewhere.”

He realized abruptly that he was talking too much again, and his mouth snapped shut, ready for the condescension or withering disdain he would get from another angel. Instead, the demon only gave him a quick and appraising look.

“They have a lot of ideas, I'll give you that,” the demon allowed. “But you know, how many of 'em are any good? On my way here, I saw someone trying to fix a fiber wing onto their raft. What do they think, that'll it'll help them fly?”

“Oh likely not,” said Aziraphale eagerly, though he wondered, “but they keep trying, don't they? I think that's the key, that they'll fail a hundred thousand times and succeed once. That makes it. Well.”

“Worth it?” the demon suggested, and after thinking for a moment, Aziraphale shook his head.

“Fun,” he said finally. “It makes it more _fun.”_

“Well, will you look at that. An angel who likes to have fun.”

The demon's words were caustic, but his tone was gentle, and when Aziraphale found that they didn't sting at all, he turned to him with a bit more confidence.

“This needn't be a-”

A nightmare. A horror. A watch in a night that never ended.

“A terrible thing for either of us,” he offered. “I mean, we can mostly stay out of each other's way. It sounds like you're meant to be in Lagash, and I'm off to Abydos for a while. Could be a very long time before we have to be back at it and all, er, married.”

“Yeah, but. We're married,” the demon said haplessly. “Aren't we meant to be doing something to seal all that in? What if they can tell we haven't, or-”

Aziraphale came to a quick decision. Before he could lose his nerve, he plucked the demon's hand from his lap and raised it up to his lips, kissing it quick and soft and gentle. He let go before the demon could draw back in frighted offense and smiled, he hoped, encouragingly.

“There,” he said. _“Consummatum est.”_

The demon gave him a searching gaze, cradling his kissed hand in the other as if it had been hurt. He nodded slowly.

“So it is,” he mused, and the next moment he had vanished, leaving a smell a bit like wood smoke and and a bit like ginger in his wake.

“It's done,” Aziraphale said, and he decided that he was quite relieved to see the end of it.

-

**_An Inn in Ninevah_ **

**_A While After That_ **

“Oh it's you,” the demon said warily. “I'd had word that you were down in Obal.”

 _He keeps track of me?_ Aziraphale wondered, and then he shook his head.

“No, I've not been in Obal for a few years now. Things got, ah, rather sticky for me.”

To his surprise, the demon snickered.

“Could have told you you were a bit early with a permanent legal code, angel,” the demon said. “They're not nomadic anymore, but they're not quite ready to take orders from some silly words carved into a stone pillar yet either.”

“Yes, well, that was made rather abundantly- look, do you mind if I sit down? It's a little crowded here.”

The demon shrugged, scooting over on a bench that was perhaps longer than it had been before, and Aziraphale took his seat. He might have asked himself why he bothered to sit with the enemy, no matter how married they were meant to be, but he knew. He was lonely, had been since Obal. Doing good was all very, well, _good_ and all, but it didn't give one the opportunity for a lot of conversation.

Once seated however, he found he had nothing to say, and he clasped his hands in front of him to keep them from fluttering nervously.

 _I am bothering him,_ Aziraphale thought with some mortification. _I really should just be on my way-_

“I've been over in Mizraim for a while now,” the demon said easily, as if they met for wine in inns all the time. “S'been going all right. Smart folks, got a lot going on in the way of urbanization, military, all that. I'm on orders to head up north to mess around with some of the tribal chiefs up there. Mizraim, it might be more your sort of place than Obal, if you'd care to trot on over.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said in surprise. “That sounds like a very good idea. I'll look into it. Thank you.”

The demon snorted.

“You know, just because we're married doesn't mean you ought to be so trusting, angel. What if I was sending you to some wretched place where you were going to get plucked and roasted?”

“Er... are you?”

“No, but that's hardly the point, is it?” asked the demon indignantly. “I'm just saying, don't go running off after the word of any demon that you meet.”

Aziraphale found himself smiling like he hadn't in a while.

“But you're hardly any demon, are you?” he asked. “As you said, we're married.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn't think that it gets you anything.”

“I won't,” Aziraphale promised. “Though... perhaps I might propose a trade?”

“Yeah? What've you got in mind?”

“My name for yours,” Aziraphale offered, because all right, he had been wondering for a while.

The demon shook his head, and Aziraphale looked down, about to be quite embarrassed until the demon spoke.

“I'm the Demon Crawley,” he said, “and I don't think I want your name just yet. You can keep on being _angel.”_

“But what will you call some angel that you meet who isn't me?” asked Aziraphale, slightly scandalized.

“Easy, I won't call them anything at all,” the Demon Crawley said with a grin. “They're nothing to me.”

Before Aziraphale could ask what that meant, the demon- Crawley- rose to his feet, dropping a few clipped silver coins on the table.

“Buy yourself a drink, and then head on east to Mizraim,” he said. “You'll like it there, I think.”

Before Aziraphale could thank him, the demon was gone, and Aziraphale was alone again.

-

**_The Tent City of Ubar_ **

**_Shortly After an Angelic Mistake_ **

“Now, well, you see, there absolutely is no need at all to get angry, I was simply confused as to which rope was holding the animals to the pole. It was an honest mistake, something that could happen to anyone...”

Aziraphale looked hopefully around at the men who were currently surrounding him, but they didn't seem quite like the forgiving sort.

“A mistake,” their leader mused.”A mistake for you, a prize for your people waiting for the camels in the dunes? Is that what you meant?”

“No, I keep telling you, I have no people. I was only trying to get my donkey loose, that was all.”

“And where is your donkey?”

“Well, it ran off with the camels, didn't it?” asked Aziraphale perhaps a little waspishly. “Honestly, that entire tethering situation was remarkably precarious, I was simply overwhelmed when-”

“No donkey, no people,” the leader of the mob mused. “How in the world are you going to compensate us for the loss of our animals?”

“Well, ah, shall we say a blessing?” Aziraphale said hopefully. “I'll admit, they lack a little punch right now, but still, they're quite good. I have one all the way from Arafat and-”

“Ransom,” said a man in the back. “She's lying, no woman that well-dressed comes from no people.”

“Sell her,” suggested another one, and Aziraphale was beginning to think that things were getting rather out of hand.

“Now see here-”he began, but the leader of the mob only shook his head.

“No, that's the problem. I don't see. No camels, no donkey, no protection, and that means you're going to do what we tell you.”

Aziraphale started to pull away, edging his way to where the crowd was the thinnest like he probably should have done earlier. Ubar was weird- the reports of someone sprouting wings and flying away wouldn't raise too many eyebrows in the great tent city, and if he could only get enough clearance to launch from the ground-

He uttered a most unangelic sound when he bumped into a hard chest and a pair of strong hands landed on his shoulders.

 _Oh that's enough of that,_ he thought, ready to turn and hit, but then the man holding him was talking.

“Ah, Tamar, y'silly thing, there you are,” said a familiar voice. “Thought I sent you out after some figs, and now I find you messing around with these nice men.”

“Oh, ah- um,” Aziraphale said intelligently. “Um, sorry?”

He turned to see, yes, Crawley standing behind him, dressed in some very nice dark robes spangled with ruddy gold embroidery and bracelets of gold on his bare wrists. He looked very rich, surprisingly handsome, and utterly irritated.

“This woman belongs to you?” asked the leader of the mob cautiously, and Crawley nodded in chagrin.

“Yeah, for my sins,” he said, though he kept his arm firmly around Aziraphale's shoulders. “You get your head turned by a pretty pair of eyes just once, and it's all over, you know?”

 _Oh, he thinks my eyes are pretty,_ Aziraphale thought, but Crawley was still talking.

“And what've got for my pains since I took her out of her father's house, I ask you?” Crawley lamented. “Nothing but the best for will do for her, and clumsy as a crocodile in cleats to the bargain. So what's the damage, gentlemen? Might as well get it over with, my banker out in Shisur is probably wondering where my most recent bills are.”

Aziraphale blinked as the atmosphere changed, turned boisterous and almost happy as the angered men forgot about him entirely.

“She lost us our camels, loaded with supplies for our journey,” the leader said.

“They bore water and provisions,” said one man.

“And spices from Sanaa,” added another one.

“Gold, as well, there was some gold...”

Aziraphale could have stamped his foot in frustration, because he might have lost the camels, but he was certain they were not laden down with the treasures of the sands.

“There was absolutely _no gold-_ ” he began, but Crawley only squeezed his shoulder as he agreed happily with whatever the men said.

It was something of a blur after that, with Crawley inviting Aziraphale's would-be persecutors back to his encampment for wine and food. Then some time after the moon set, Crawley took Aziraphale's hand in his and pulled him to his feet.

“C'mon, we should get going. Pretty soon, this lot's going to find the gold's all rocks and the food's also all rocks, so best we be gone before they wake up.”

The ungrateful donkey had found its way back, and Crawley put Aziraphale on it, setting him on the road to Al Khaluf.

“Straight on thataways, and there's plenty of folks going forward and back, so you should be just fine,” Crawley said, dodging a speculative bite from the donkey. “I feel I ought not have to tell you not to get into trouble, but you know. There it is. Don't.”

Aziraphale fiddled with the donkey's reins, distractedly preventing it from having another go at the demon.

“I very much appreciate what you did back there,” he said hesitantly. “You didn't have to do any of that. I had it handled.... But I am so glad you did.”

“Yeah? You know. It was nothing.”

“It certainly was not nothing. It was-”

“Ah, let's not get into what it might be. I mean, we're married, but word still gets around on my side, you know. Shouldn't like to get in trouble for an honest bit of fraud.”

“Well, no,” Aziraphale said reluctantly. “But you know what I mean, I hope?”

Crawley tilted his head to one side, showing off the glint of a sharp, friendly tooth.

“D'you know, I think I do. Now get going. I'd come with you part of the way, but I've business on the coast. And … angel?”

“Yes?”

“Love the dress on you. Wouldn't mind seeing more of that sort of thing. See you around.”

-

**_Atlantis_ **

**_During the End_ **

The water now came up to the third and fourth stories in some places, flowing into the lavish apartments of the wealthy, sloshing through the galleries and mansions and boutiques and reaching ever higher. The people were still fighting amongst themselves, some having already grown fish-tails, other chosen to merely breathe water instead of air, and over it all could be heard the enraged shouting of the Angel Islington, who had always had a very real problem with letting things go.

From the rocky promontory of a place that would one day be Pointe du Raz, Aziraphale and Crowley stood watching, a little awkward, slightly embarrassed, and unable to look away.

“Tell you what, I'm sorry trains haven't been invented yet because I would properly like to call this one hell of a trainwreck,” Crowley said finally, and Aziraphale flinched.

“You know, it really is too bad it all has to go down-”

“Ha.”

“Oh, Crowley. That it had to happen like this. I thought things were going so well for a while, didn't you?”

“Pretty brilliantly, honestly,” Crowley said glumly. “Too bad we didn't account for the Angel Islington being such a prick.”

“A shame,” Aziraphale agreed. “But still, somewhat promising, don't you think? I didn't do so badly, helping out, did I?”

“Oh, you were a wonder, angel,” Crowley said absently, still gazing out over the turbulent waves where the greatest city of the age was sinking like a lead balloon. “Absolutely fantastic, ten stars all around.”

Aziraphale tried not to preen.

“Well, if it so happens that you need a hand again-”

“Not likely,” Crowley said, shaking his head as if he had come to a decision. “I think what this tells us is that we work best alone. It was good, but we may just be too much firepower put together. Makes things somewhat chaotic, and well, neither of us can afford that. Best we keep ourselves to ourselves, don't you think?”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale said, not sure why he felt so monstrously disappointed. “If you think it best.”

“I do.” Crowley opened his wings, raven black and gleaming in the dying light. “And now, I'm about ready to flee the scene of the crime. You should too. If anyone ought to be left holding the bag, it's the Angel-fucking-Islington, not you.”

Without a backward look, Crowley was off, and Aziraphale deliberately didn't watch him go. Honestly, there was no reason at all for him to feel oddly bereft and abandoned. He should in no way be feeling at all forlorn or wistful. The very idea. Sheer ridiculousness.

 _Honestly,_ he thought, opening his own wings. _I shall be utterly cool and professional when next we meet. No more of this working together, no matter how convivial it might be._

-

**_Rome_ **

**_23 AD, The Morning After a Convivial Night, Two Jugs of Muslum, a Bucket of Oysters and One Rather Distracting Acrobatic Performance_ **

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Wake up.”

“Mmph, no,” Aziraphale murmured, tucking his nose a little more firmly against the chest he was snuggled up against. It was hard to do, though, when someone was pulling away, evading his most dedicated efforts to keep them close.

“Aziraphale!”

The panicked tone woke him the rest of the way, and he sat up bolt upright, realizing three things all at once.

First, he was naked. Utterly.

Second, Crowley was naked. Completely.

Third, he realized how they had come to be that way- a lot of fumbling had been involved, and a little tearing, and one point, _teeth._

“Oh... oh dear,” he breathed. “Crowley, my goodness, I cannot believe.”

“Yeah, I can imagine what you do or don't believe,” Crowley said shortly reaching down to disentangle his tunic from the rather sad pile of clothing on the floor. He held up the dark fabric for a moment, looking critically at the slightly gnawed shoulder seam, and then shrugged, putting it on anyway. Aziraphale stifled a momentary pang of regret at seeing all that lovely skin covered up, and scooted to the edge of his bed, reaching for his own clothes.

“I hope I haven't, er, that is-”

“You shouldn't,” Crowley said, rather confusingly. “I mean, you'd think that if it were going to happen, it'd already have done. Probably _during,_ knowing your luck. No, you're fine.”

Aziraphale looked down at his own nudity, slightly puzzled.

“Er, of course I am fine. What are you talking about?”

“Falling, angel,” Crowley said, half-angrily. “You're not fallen after what I did to you and what you did to me. You should be fine. That's a myth anyway, you know. You don't fall for some sex, it's more about, like, vows broken and being forsworn and stuff.”

“I knew that,” Aziraphale said, slightly miffed. Crowley wrapped his toga around himself with short, abrupt motions, throwing the tidy pleats over his shoulder. He was moving rather more quickly than Aziraphale found polite.

“Crowley, will you only wait a moment?”

Crowley sighed loudly as if greatly put out, and looked at Aziraphale with his arms across his chest. Aziraphale could wish he had never gotten those ridiculous glasses. His spouse was so much easier to read without.

“What?”

“Crowley, I know that I'm not going to fall. I knew that before we. Well. Before. Of course I wasn't.”

Crowley looked a little less tense, but there was still a line between his eyebrows and a stubborn set to his jaw. Aziraphale thought for a moment.

“Did you think I was going to be ah, _cross_ with you this morning?”

“You're an angel, aren't you?” Crowley asked sullenly. “Hardly seems as if you could avoid it after what we did. Cross and embarrassed and guilty and maybe ashamed.”

Aziraphale cycled through a number of different emotions, few of them pleasant, some of them exactly what Crowley had named, though the demon had apparently missed the cause by a mile.  
“Did you think that I was going to feel like that before you kissed me last night?” he asked as calmly as he could.

Crowley was as still as a statue for a moment, and then jerked his head once in a stiff nod.

“Thought there were better than average odds,” he said gruffly.

“And...you went to bed with me _anyway_?” His heart hurt. He didn't know why it hurt. It just did. Foolish thing.

“Demon, remember?”

Aziraphale reached down for his own clothes, putting them on, if anything, faster than Crowley had. He didn't turn to look at him until he was clothed again, hotter around the face than he cared to claim, but with an old military sharpness to his stance.

“I never forget you,” Aziraphale said. “I never do. And I don't regret it. But right now, I am not sure I can bear the sight of you.”

He turned and walked out of the room, ignoring the slight tug of Crowley reaching to grasp at a fold of his tunic or the startled way Crowley said his name. The moment he was out of sight, he snapped his fingers and greeted with angry satisfaction the bustling streets of Alexandria.

Time to get good and lost for a while.

-

**_Wessex_ **

**_Somewhere in the Eleventh Century_ **

“Angel! Angel, I know you're up there!”

Aziraphale, who had been planning on ignoring the commotion below his tower completely, straightened up so fast he nearly knocked his bottle of oak-gall ink over. He righted it hastily and set it aside before going to the window and peering down at the green sward below.

“Crowley,” he said with surprise. “What in the world are you doing there?”

Dressed in armor painted black with deep red detailing, Crowley looked quite handsome as he leered up at Aziraphale

“Been a while since I've seen you, angel,” he said, “and look at _you_ looking so pretty.”

Aziraphale ignored the slight flutter in his heart at Crowley's flattery, waving one long sleeve with disdain.

“I do not favor these fashions in the least,” he grumbled. “I am meant to be a woman of God, and yet the tightness of these laces, my goodness. It takes an age just to get them on.”

“I think the sinfulness is in getting them off rather than getting them on,” Crowley suggested and Aziraphale huffed, a little pink in the cheeks.

“Honestly, if you have only come to my humble anchorage to be crude...”

“Nah, heard you were holed up here from some nice girls in Hagustaldese. Said there was a great holy woman of wit and wisdom and lovely fair hair locked up in a tower and handing down pithy writings about people _calming down enough to let civilization progress a little_ and _can't you all just get along for fifty years, I swear._ I put two and two together, and thought I'd come out for a chat.”

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, trying to keep himself aloof and apart as he was very sure a proper angel should.

“So you're here,” he said. “Chat.”

Crowley looked around with exaggerated dismay, shading his eyes in the cloudy day over his smoky lenses.

“You're all the way up there,” he said forlornly. “Come on, angel, it's been ages.”

“Well, that's hardly my problem,” Aziraphale said, amused in spite of himself. “I told you, I'm a holy woman, and I do not _descend_ to meet with strange knights or-”

There was a whoosh of feathers and a flash of black, and Aziraphale stumbled back with a cry, because suddenly there was Crowley sitting on window ledge as if it were a bench, his handsome dark wings blocking out the sun before he folded them neatly away.

 _Show-off,_ Aziraphale thought with something like affection, and he shook his head, giving Crowley a stern look.

“Ooh, what a glare,” Crowley teased. “You look like you're going to blast me back to Byblos with a single look.”

“I might if you don't stop wasting my time,” Aziraphale said, unable to hide a tiny smile. “What is it, Crowley?”

“Came by to talk numbers, o spouse of mine,” Crowley said more seriously. “You're behind on your work again, aren't you?”

Aziraphale stiffened.

“How did you-?”

Crowley waved it away.

“We're married, I keep an ear out. But anyway, you're behind this year. This anchorage is all very good, and I can see them being the next big thing in the time to come, but still. Little droopy on the miracle market, aren't you? Numbers a little sluggish?”

“Oh, it's just a bother,” Aziraphale said crossly, going to sit at his desk where, all right, there was a rather un-ascetic bottle of Rhenish wine that he had been sipping at that afternoon. He poured himself a a glass and one for Crowley as well.

“Ah, thanks, I was fair parched from the road,” Crowley said, taking a sip. “But anyway, angel, you're behind, and word is that upstairs isn't so pleased.”

“Well, what should I be doing about that?” Aziraphale snapped. “The establishment of an anchorage, which is actually on Heaven's mandate, takes _time,_ and I cannot be expected to rush about curing leprosy in horses or manifesting above baptismal fonts while I tend to things here.”

“Quite right,” Crowley said sympathetically. “And that's why I should be doing the curing leprosy bit and manifesting in loaves of bread instead.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Miracles, angel. I can do them as well as you, and you ought to let me.”

“Really. And what in the world are you expecting for such a favor?”

He wondered if a moment of hurt flashed over Crowley's face before it was smoothed away to the demon's usual grin.

“It would be an arrangement, let's say- an exchange of favors to the betterment of us both. I've got some things what need doing in Italy next year, and Assur double-booked me. I could use an extra pair of hands. Come on. One for one, and we'll both look great for the bosses.”

“And no funny business?” asked Aziraphale suspiciously. “We play fair?”

“Cross my heart,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale found himself nodding. It rather was too much, it _would_ be good to have the burden lifted a bit, just enough to finish these analects he had finally gotten around to reading and to properly appreciate the illumination that had been getting more interesting lately.

“All right,” he said at last. “An arrangement of favors, offered one for one, and performed to the best of our abilities.”

He offered his hand for Crowley to shake, but the demon swept low and planted a gentle kiss on Aziraphale's knuckles instead. Aziraphale let the touch linger a little too long before jerking back, his cheeks flaming.

“A deal,” Crowley said with a grin, and he downed the rest of his wine before wiping his mouth.

“S'good stuff,” he commented. “I wouldn't mind having some more if you're sharing. I could fetch up some of those honey seedcakes from town. We could make a proper celebration of it, you know? Spend some time, it's been ages since we were in the same place...”

Unbidden, Aziraphale thought of the bed at the rear of the tower. He seldom slept, but it was luxurious, piled high with pillows and cloaked in gossamer drapings of silk and cotton. He imagined Crowley spread out on it, his mouth red with wine and his tongue sweet with honey, and the longing was almost as sharp as the old fear that came up with it. The place where they had slept together in Rome was dust, but the memory of that morning, not quite.

“Best not,” he said. “The kiss was enough to seal the deal, and... well. I think you had better be on your way. I have a rather lot of things to do tomorrow, and I would like to make a fresh start.”

Crowley looked around wryly at the four walls of the tower as Aziraphale realized how foolish that sounded, or worse, how _mean,_ but the demon only nodded briskly.

“As you like, angel. Send your list of assignments for the year through the usual channels, and I'll get them taken care of.”

He threw one leg over the window sill, and then he turned over his shoulder.

“It really was nice to seeing you again,” he said softly, and before Aziraphale could tell him the same, he was gone.

**_London_ **

**_1606, About Twenty Minutes Into the First Performance of_ The Revenger's Tragedy**

The street was biting cold, and Aziraphale hurried to keep up with Crowley, who was walking quickly away from the theater with an aggrieved air.

“Oh Crowley, I hardly thought it was that bad,” he said.

“Well, you wouldn't, would you?” Crowley asked peevishly.”You know that I only like the funny ones, and that one was absolutely _not_ funny.”.

“Well, Thomas told me it would be,” Aziraphale objected, “For goodness's sake, slow down.”

Crowley came to a halt, shaking out her dark skirts with irritation.

“Really, angel, what a waste of a good night, and it's my last night in town, you know. I have to be over in Brandenburg for the next ten years, and who knows what they want after that, and-”

Aziraphale made a tutting sound, taking Crowley's hands and warming them in his own.

“There, dear,” he said. “I'm sorry. Thomas _did_ tell me it was a comedy, and I shall not trust him on such matters hereafter, and I shall not take you to plays of an unproven quality any longer, either.”

“I'm going to curse him,” Crowley grumbled. “What a cheat, telling you this was a comedy of all things.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley's arm and drawing her closer. “And I'm also very sorry I wasted even a part of your last evening in London for a while.”

“Ah, you weren't to know,” Crowley said with a sigh. “You can make it up to me by taking me to the boxing matches if you like. If I'm going to be watching violent foolishness, I might as well be racking up some points for rage and pride while I do it.”

“Actually, I was thinking about heading home for the night,” Aziraphale said carefully, and Crowley drew herself up, wounded.

“Oh, well, you're if ready to be done already-” she said, but Aziraphale shook his head.

“You see, I was thinking about taking a trip,” he said. “A brief trip, all things considered, but still one does like to be prepared.”

“You do hate to travel without your favorite books and that silly old doublet of yours,” Crowley said hesitantly.

“That doublet is just- well. Never mind. But I was wondering if you'd care to come help? Seeing as I don't really know what the weather is like in Brandenburg, of course?”

Crowley went utterly still, and Aziraphale squashed the urge to take it all back. If she wanted to turn him down, he wanted to give her that at least, but she bit her lip.

“That is... are you sure?” she asked almost timidly.

“I am. I asked Suriel to switch my to-do list around, and I'm cleared to spend a few years making good over in Brandenburg. I may even be able to stretch it to ten years or more. That is, I could if you're not sick of me by then.”

Crowley was so silent that Aziraphale would have been worried if she wasn't already clinging to his arm as tightly as she could.

“I think I might like it,” she offered quietly.”The chance to get sick of you, I mean.”

Daringly, Aziraphale leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, ignoring the cheers and jeers of the urchins across the road.

“I'd like to give you that chance,” he said. “Now, let's go back to mine and get packing. I have some rather good sack that won't survive the trip, and we should take care of that before we go.”

**_London_ **

**_1895, During a Salon Thrown by That Nice Mr Wilde_ **

Aziraphale didn't often have the pleasure of spotting Crowley first, and now that he had done so, he paused in his delight before heading over. It was a joy to take in his spouse's lean form given something in the way of breasts and hips by the tightly-cut bodice and the wide skirts. He liked the elegant arch of her bare neck and the wealth of rubies that ringed it, as well as the way she lurked at the edges of the crowd like a rather well-dressed shark.

 _She really does get more beautiful every time I see her,_ he thought, shaking out his own pale skirts and going over to say hello.

Before he could tap Crowley on the shoulder, however, Crowley turned to loop an arm around Aziraphale's waist, giving him a wink.

“Ah, there you are, my angel,” she said. “Come and give me a touch of class, why don't you?”

“I should think with that many rubies that you have plenty of class all on your own,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley snickered.

“You wouldn't say that if you knew where they came from. All the dirty money flowing into the empire these days, angel, you would not believe.”

“I just might,” Aziraphale said a little more dourly, and Crowley clucked her tongue in mock dismay.

“Oh, angel, you mustn't let the times get you down. Come on, smile for me a little, won't you? I thought you'd surely smile after I did that job up in Aberdeen for you.”

Aziraphale did smile then, looking down just like the charmed society matron that Crowley would love to be seen seducing.

“You did do a very pat job there, my dear,” he said. “A very neat hand indeed.”

“And believe me, it wasn't easy getting that many doves to spell out _peace_ in the sky,” she said.

“Very clever darling, just so perfectly brilliant and oh so wicked,” Aziraphale said, and he had the pleasure of watching Crowley preen and blush at the same time.

“Mercy, angel, we're in public,” she said only half-joking. “If you're going to be like that, you could at least agree to help me with the work I'm doing here.”

Aziraphale frowned, glancing at where their host held court not too far off. He was surrounded by a dozen dazzled admirers, punctuating his words with gestures from his perfect gold-tipped cigarette. It reminded Aziraphale a little of the old days, when mere words alone could make someone a holy thing. For this man, it was a kind of magic that was only going to last a short while longer, and Aziraphale was already anticipating his loss.

“Oh Crowley, please. Things are already falling apart-”

Crowley waved him off dismissively.

“Oh, not him. I was thinking about something a little more in line of envy and lust.”

“Do tell,” Aziraphale said dryly, and Crowley tipped him a wink.

“How about if I show, instead?”

She hooked a finger between the buttons of Aziraphale's bodice, dragging him close before planting a soft, soft, _ever_ so soft kiss on his mouth. Aziraphale allowed himself to be kissed, his hands down by his sides as Crowley ran just the edge of a very sharp tooth over his lower lip. He didn't breathe again until Crowley pulled back, her dark glasses slipping down her nose to reveal her longing gaze.

“Ah, angel,” she sighed, and Aziraphale smiled at her.

“Oh, is _that_ all the more tempting you can be, my dear?” he asked in tones of melting sympathy, and there was just a moment of delighted shock in Crowley's face before she seized him and they _really_ made a scene.

**_The American Diplomat's Residence_ **

**_A Few Years Before the End_ **

“Well, the gardener's cottage is certainly spacious enough for two,” said Mrs. Dowling in surprise. “I just wasn't expecting a married couple.”

“Oh aye,” said Francis with a hearty chuckle. “Me and the old girl, we've been together since before the flood.”

He reached over to give Nanny Ashtoreth an affectionate pat on her nearly non-existent rear- all right, that class on method acting had gone a bit to his head- but his spouse only stepped away with a frosty grace.

“That's right, ma'am,” said Nanny Ashtoreth briskly. “You may be sure that neither of us will go haring off after anything so frivolous as romance while we are employed here, though I will certainly still be taking advantage of that offer of a private room for the nanny position.”

**_The Bandstand_ **

**_Honestly, One of the Worst Times_ **

“How long have we been married?” Crowley demanded. “Six thou- six _thousand_ years, angel, and you could give me some credit.”

“I am giving you all the credit that the idea of either of us _murdering the actual Antichrist_ deserves,” Aziraphale said hotly. “You are being ridiculous.”

“I'm not, I'm just... Aziraphale. Angel. Listen. Even if this ends up in a big puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

“Go off together?” It came out hopeful instead of scornful, and Crowley, with years of long practice, stepped in closer, his voice lowering

“Six thousand years, angel. It's so little against eternity, isn't it?. There could be more. There could be a whole lot more if we weren't on this little rock. We could have all the time in the world.”

Aziraphale licked his lips nervously, because he could see it. Stardust and moons, the echoes out of the black holes, eternity unbounded by the story She was telling them here on Earth.

“But not this world,” he whispered. “This world would be gone.”

Crowley's face went hard, and he took Aziraphale's hand in a grip that came just shy of hurting.

“I don't _care_ about that,” he said coldly, and Aziraphale drew back, somehow still capable of being shocked after the events of the last few days.

“May you be forgiven,” he said without thinking, and Crowley bared his teeth at him.

“ _She's_ not going to forgive me,” Crowley said darkly. “Are you? _Would_ you?”

“It doesn't matter,” Aziraphale said, leaving that _yes, every time_ to haunt him for however long he had left.

“Of course it matters. We're married, we've been almost from the beginning, we belong with each other-”

“Not anymore,” Aziraphale forced himself to say. “There are greater things afoot, greater destinies than ours-”

“Great pustulant mangled bollocks to greater blasted destinies!” Crowley roared. “We're-

“Not anymore,” Aziraphale said quietly, and Crowley went quiet, a puppet with all his strings cut before he straightened up with a shake and assumed a sneer that Aziraphale hadn't seen in a very long time.

“Well,” he said. “That's that, isn't it? All right, angel. Have a nice doomsday.”

He turned and walked away, and Aziraphale couldn't think of a single reason but one to stop him.

-

**_A.Z. Fell & Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books_ **

**_Potentially the Last Friday Night_ **

Aziraphale did not read like humans read, and Agnes Nutter knew that, one day, she would have an ethereal reader. The book of prophecy was open in front of him, and the letters that arranged themselves into words that arranged themselves into sentences were just the beginning of what Agnes was trying to say.

Wheels moved within wheels, and though God played cards in a dark room with a maddening laugh, Aziraphale could, through Agnes, see a flicker of motion in the darkness.

“Here we are,” he whispered, turning the pages forward and back. “Show me where we're going, please-”

The book revealed an infinitesimally small portion of the Great Plan, and as he sought with all his angelic senses thrown open, he caught just a shadow of himself there, and of Crowley as well. It nearly broke his concentration, but then it became a part of it, one more strut holding up the whole, and he smiled.

He continued reading.

-

**_The Airbase_ **

**_Immediately Before the End of the World_ **

“Angel! Nice dress, suits you!”

Aziraphale turned Tracy's body to see Crowley emerge exhausted, singed and triumphant from the flaming wreck of the Bentley, and the heart he no longer had fluttered like a mad thing.

 _Oooh, he looks like trouble,_ Tracy thought with delight. _You've done quite well for yourself, haven't you?_

 _I have,_ Aziraphale realized, and he and Tracy together smiled at Crowley.

“We're only having a little trouble with the door- this young man won't let us in.”

He couldn't help simpering a little as Crowley swaggered up to the increasingly befuddled gate guard, because well, he hadn't thought he would get see this again, to see _him_ again, and oh how he loved him.

“Army human, my angel and I have come a long way, and-”

He was interrupted by the polite _ding-ding_ of a bicycle bell, and they all turned to watch as four pre-teens followed by a scrappy little hellhound rode through the opening gates. With a started curse, the gate guard ran after them, and Crowley shrugged

“All right, folks, come on, we've got an apocalypse to catch. And angel, if there is a later, we will absolutely be having _words_.”

-

**_An Incredibly Expensive Flat in Mayfair_ **

**_After Some Words, Some Making Up, and Some Discussion of Prophecy_ **

“Have to give the old girl credit, she thought of everything,” Crowley said out of Aziraphale's mouth. He held up Aziraphale's hands speculatively, closing them and opening them a few times. “Bugger, but you're strong.”

“And you're lopsided,” complained Aziraphale, taking a few experimental steps around the living room. “How long have you had one shoulder higher than the other?”

“What? No, I don't.”

“You do, you very obviously do. Goodness, Crowley, if we get out of this, I am taking you to an osteopath and-”

His words cut off when Crowley came to wrap his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder.

“Crowley!”

“What?” asked Crowley, nuzzling the side of Aziraphale's neck, which was, properly speaking, his own neck. Aziraphale started to say something, but the pleasure at his spouse's lips made him gasp instead.

“Oh, it's not like that in mine,” he breathed, and Crowley laughed in delight.

“C'mon, angel,” he said, leading him to bed. “We've got to get to know these bodies, and given how all this started In the Beginning, we might as well do it biblically.”

–

**_A Garden in a New World Very Like the Old One_ **

**_Late Afternoon on a Sunday_ **

“I wonder what it'll be like,” Crowley mused just short of the garden gates.

Aziraphale paused to look at him, tilting his head slightly.

“What what will be like?”

Crowley nodded past the gates.

“Everything that Adam put back together. Brave new world, and all that.”

“It will have such people in it?” Aziraphale suggested, because that had been one of the funny ones that they'd watched together. Crowley flashed him a bright smile.

“People and cars that never burned and bookshops that never fell. Made over just for us.”

“I'm fairly sure it's not _just_ for us,” Aziraphale said, amused.

“ _I'm_ sure it is. Brave new world, brand new world, fresh starts for all.”

He paused, fidgeting a little with his hands somehow stuffed deep into his pockets. Even after spending some time in those jeans, Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how he managed it.

“So what do you think, angel?” he asked, nodding at the gates. “You want to? Again?”

Aziraphale tucked his arm into Crowley's, a tower with roses and song bursting from every window, a heart too big for only six thousand years.

“Of course, my dear,” he said. “Let's go.”


End file.
